Ghosts Of Christmases Past
by The-Time-Travelling-Hippie
Summary: 'How is it that you can feel so alone, so isolated, even while you're in a room with a dozen other people just like you' Murdock wonders, is Christmas really all it's cracked up to be?


**(A/N): So, I thought, instead of a happy, merry, ordinary Christmas fic, why not an angsty one? After all, angst is my favourite.**

**Also, thank you to MommieJen for giving me a title for this thing. Go and check her work out!**

**Disclaimer: As much as it pains me to say, I do not own the A-Team.**

_**GHOSTS OF CHRISTMASES PAST**_

* * *

He kicked off his shoes and let his head fall against the pillow tiredly. His deep, chocolate eyes rose lazily to the ceiling and studied the odd stains and cracks that stood out from the normal egg-shell whiteness with curiosity as his hand reached out to pet Billy, who lay obediently by his master's side.

He let his breathing relax as he settled.

Murdock knew. He knew Face was coming to get him soon. He knew he should be packing his things right now. He knew that he was doing exactly what Hannibal had told him not to do, to get distracted, but he wasn't bothered. It was one of those rare occasions where he felt like a crystal clear glass, clear and lucid, yet fragile and ready to break and to fall right back into the deep, dark abyss that was madness. He couldn't let his mind wander too far, but it needed its freedom every now and again.

Turning his head to the side he stared out of the window and watched as dainty snowflakes touched the glass with the same gentleness a man would give to his lover, or a mother to her child, and he felt something tug at his heartstrings. It was Christmas Eve.

He realised, as he let his mind wander even further down the rocky path that was rationality, that he was an extremely lucky man. In less than an hour he would be off with his best friend to get on the private jet they "borrowed" and fly off to Peru, while that angry Mudsucker of his slept peacefully in the back. He would be yipping and howling and singing showtunes in every language he knew, and he couldn't wait.

But something was bothering him.

Maybe it was the fact he was going to spend Christmas this year in a different country, but he'd done that more times than he could even remember so it didn't bother him too much. Maybe it was because he wasn't going to visit B.A's Momma, who was like a mother to him also, but they were going to visit her when they got back and he could wait until then. Maybe it was because he wouldn't be able to see all the Christmas lights being turned on, or that he wouldn't have any turkey, or that he wouldn't be able to roast chestnuts over an open fire like he always used to.

No, that wasn't it.

He couldn't put his finger on it. He should be satisfied and excited, but he sure didn't feel any of those emotions right now. His brow furrowed in confusion and he unconsciously began to pet Billy even harder, making the poor dog squirm under his vice-like grip, like a rabbit caught in the talons of a hawk.

Maybe it was because he wouldn't be listening to any of his favourite Christmas carols.

No.

After a moment without any thought whatsoever, after a minute of him sitting there in silence, staring out of the frost dusted window searching for answers that weren't even there, after listening to the wind howl outside his window like a caged animal for what seemed like an eternity to him but what was only a stroke of the second hand on his clock which hung from his wall, he realised.

It was _this _place he was going to miss.

Not necessarily the hospital. After all it was just a big, scary building with barred windows and soft rooms for him to play in. No he wouldn't miss that.

The people inside it.

Look deeper.

Look past the insanity which plagued most patients here, look past the fear, the depression, the rage. Look past all that and you will find yourself with the most common, but yet rawest emotion felt by every man in this building, and you will finally realise.

Loneliness.

How is it that you can feel so alone, so isolated, even while you're in a room with a dozen other people just like you?

He didn't know. Even Sigmund Freud would be stumped.

He loved and hated Christmas. The sights, the smells, the sounds; he was enchanted by them. Christmas brought back so many happy memories for him. He felt like a boy again when it was Christmas time.

But the idea of sharing gifts and creating memories just didn't work when you were alone. He knew he had friends and people to be around, but the lost souls here, each haunted by their own ghosts of Christmas past, would be without family and friends tomorrow. And that is why the word "humbug" rolled so easily off of his tongue whenever he dared to utter the profanity.

Billy was staring at him strangely. The dog could read him like a book.

"Ah, don' be sad, Billy. Ol' Murdock's just got a bad case o' the winter blues, that's all. I bet Santy Paws'll be bringin' you a nice, juicy bone to chew on tomorrow, don' you worry."

Satisfied, the canine lowered his head and closed his eyes. Murdock did the same, but didn't try to sleep. The tune to _jingle bells_ burrowed into his brain like a parasite. He grimaced.

His mind wandered even further back to a time he didn't wish to remember.

Alone on Christmas day, eating the cafeteria's substitute for turkey (chicken), and then going back to his room where'd he'd sit and cry himself to sleep for the rest of the evening, plagued by nightmares. No cards, no gifts, not even a single bell of holly to be seen. Of course the nurses and doctors wished him a merry Christmas, but what was there to be merry about? Merry that medicine time was only an hour away? Only an hour of agonising sadness and then he'd be numb from it all. Oh yes, what a very jolly day.

A feeling of despair washed over him like a sluggish wave. His eyes shot open and he sat up suddenly, startling the dog beside him.

"Don' go back there, H.M," he commanded, "leave it 'lone. Face is comin' soon. Hang on."

His own voice sounded strange to him. It sounded hollow and forced. Murdock frowned and got off the bed, pacing anxiously around the room.

After five minutes, he was sure he had walked over two miles by just walking back and fourth. He kept glancing at the window, the door, snapping his fingers, raking his fingers down his cheeks in frustration.

"You're losing it, Murdock, stop!" He growled.

Dear God, he could use a drink. Or a thousand of them.

He looked over to the window again and saw a pair of eyes staring at him from the other side. He ran over to it and threw it open, expecting the blonde-haired Conman to be on the other side, pulling off the mesh that fenced him in and climbing through.

_Why would you wanna break **into **this place?_

But there was no one there. The mesh was still attached to the outside of the window. The lights were still on. There was no "scientist" or "FBI agent" at the door with a worried nurse. Nothing.

He was imagining things.

He did a series of spins in the centre of the room, his arms spread out either side of him like wings. He was smiling but inside he was terrified.

"_Oh the weather outside is frightful  
But the fire is so delightful  
And since we've no place to go  
Let It Snow! Let It Snow! Let It Snow!_"

He stopped, eyes wide and scared.

"Stop,"

_Okay_.

Murdock shuddered and folded his arms over his chest like he was hugging himself, feeling cold all of a sudden.

_The guys won't want to take me anywhere like this_.

Billy was wagging his tail nervously as he watched his master slowly crumble in front of him. This often happened when they were alone.

The Pilot felt dizzy. An assortment of festive carols swam about in his skull. He didn't know which ones to sing first, so he tried singing them all at once. He hugged himself tighter and tighter till he felt his eyes bulge out and his heart stop, then...

Darkness.

His first thought; was he dead? Thank God.

Then realisation hit him as he heard the all too familiar sound of mesh being tugged off the window. It slid open and a pair of slightly annoyed blue eyes shone in the moonlight.

"Hurry up, Murdock, I'm cold."

Face.

The shocked man just stood there for a moment, wondering what he was supposed to be doing.

"Murdock?" The Lieutenant called, a mixture of concern and anxiety in his hushed voice, as he pulled himself onto the ledge and hopped through. "Come on. The emergency lights, remember. We have to hurry."

"Oh," Murdock mumbled to himself, still in a daze, "the lights. Got to hurry."

He grabbed his half-packed duffel bag with shaky fingers and made his way to the window. Face collected the Pilot's forgotten cap and jacket. They hopped off of the ledge just as the light flooded back into the room once again. Murdock wasn't sure if they were really there or if it was just his imagination, but he heard screams.

They ran to the van, Murdock's thighs ablaze with pain, and jumped in.

Hannibal turned to him as they settled in their seats. His tranquil steel blue eyes met the Captain's foggy brown ones. He frowned, then smiled warmly.

"Happy Christmas, son." He said

Oh, if that were only true.


End file.
